


cleaved

by AquaQuadrant



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure, Tangled (2010), Tangled: The Series (Cartoon)
Genre: (of a canon divergence), Amputation, Amputee AU, Angst, Blood, Canon Divergence, Disability, Disabled Character, Father-Son Relationship, Graphic Description of Injury, Healing, Panic Attacks, Recovery, Trauma, Whump, probably inaccurate medical practices, taking lots of liberties with the science here just go with it, yall can blame snowprincess-artist on tumblr for this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-03-14 17:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13595349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaQuadrant/pseuds/AquaQuadrant
Summary: Quirin isn't fast enough to save Varian from the crystal. But he refuses to give up on his son, even if it means making the hardest decision of his life. (amputee!au)





	1. apart

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Greetings! I know I have plenty of other projects to be working on (and don't worry, my other stories will update as scheduled) but I couldn't get this scenario out of my head. Basically, Varian gets trapped in the crystal instead of Quirin, and in order to save him, he's forced to amputate Varian's arm. Tread carefully and heed the warnings, please.
> 
> This will be a three-part story, not sure when the next one will be up, though. Read on and please leave a comment if you like it! - Aqua

__

_chapter one - apart_

~*~

__

cleave - to split or divide; to sever from 

~*~

 _“Varian, watch out!”_

Quirin wasn’t fast enough. The bubbling compound on the black rock erupted with an ear-splitting crash. Huge, jagged shards of golden crystal sprouted upwards, and encased in the transparent material was Varian’s left hand.

Quirin was struck with horror. His blood turned to ice, taking his breath away as the reality of the situation hit him. Everything he’d done to try and keep Varian away from the danger of the black rocks had meant _nothing._ He'd failed.

Varian cried out in alarm. He clawed at his hand in an attempt to pry it free, digging his heels into the ground. “Dad, help, I- I’m stuck!”

“Varian!” Quirin rushed to Varian’s side. “Hang on, son!”

Quirin wrapped his arms around Varian and pulled, but he didn’t budge. The crystal was as solid as the black rocks from which it’d grown.

“It’s- it’s no use, it won’t work!” Varian’s voice was shrill with panic. “It’s gonna k- keep expanding until it kills me-" His breathing hitched. "I don’t wanna die!” 

The crystal was still growing, creeping slowly up Varian’s forearm. It would overtake him in a matter of minutes.

Quirin grabbed Varian’s shoulders. _“Son,_ look at me. Is there anything you can think of to stop this?”

Varian’s eyes darted wildly, from the rocks to the spreading crystal to the countless chemicals on his workbench. “I- I don’t know, the compound has- has altered t- the chemical makeup of the- of the rocks, s- somehow, I d- don’t know what this _is._ I’ve ne- never seen a- anything like it.” His stricken gaze met Quirins, brimming with tears. “I’m scared, Dad. I don’t kn- know what to do.”

Heart sinking, Quirin scanned the workshop desperately, looking for something, _anything,_ that could help. There were several weapons scattered on the ground around the black rocks, some bent or shattered from failed attempts at breaking them.

Quirin’s gaze fell on a sword.

A pit of ice formed in Quirin’s stomach. His mind revolted at the thought immediately, but the crystal was almost past Varian’s elbow and if he didn’t act now it’d be too late. Swallowing hard, he reached down and picked the sword up.

The weapon felt impossibly heavy in Quirin’s hands. His heart felt even more so. Expression grim, he looked up to meet Varian’s gaze. “Varian...”

The tone of his voice said, _‘we both know there’s only one thing to do.’_ And buried underneath, a plea; _‘please don’t make me say it.’_

Varian stared at the sword, realization dawning in his eyes. Too many emotions to name clashed across his face at breakneck speed. Then, resignation settled over him, and Varian nodded. Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned away from the trapped arm, biting down on the glove of his other hand in anticipation. 

“It’s going to be okay.” Quirin rested the sword along Varian’s arm, his other hand gripping his shoulder. “Varian, do you trust me?”

A pause. And then, muffled around a glove-

“Mmhmm.”

That was the last push Quirin needed. Sending up a quick prayer, he brought the sword down on his son’s arm.

The first thing Quirin registered was the feel of his blade cutting through flesh, a well-known sensation he’d hoped to leave behind him. Next was the sickening crunch of bone, and a spray of red as the scent of copper filled the air.

Quirin was expecting screaming. He’d braced himself for it, even, and yet-

Varian hadn’t made a sound, just a sharp intake of breath as he bit down harder on his glove. His wide eyes were glassy, unfocused, like his mind had retreated somewhere far away. There were silent tears streaming down his face, the only indication of the agony he must be feeling. 

Somehow, that was even worse.

The first slice had cut deep into the bone, but the arm wasn’t fully severed yet. Quirin tightened his grip on the handle, hefting the sword up again. Another swing and it was done; bone splintered and cracked, giving way beneath the blade. Varian fell away from the crystal and collapsed, Quirin dropping the sword to catch him in his arms.

Varian’s arm ended halfway between his shoulder and where his elbow had been. The wound was bleeding badly, all the exposed tissue and bone stained a bright red. 

Cradling him carefully, Quirin dragged Varian away from the slowly expanding crystal, blood trailing behind them.

“Varian?” Quirin started wrapping the sleeve of Varian’s shirt around the remaining tissue in the hope of stemming the blood flow. He scanned Varian’s face quickly. “Varian, are you with me?”

Varian was the palest Quirin had ever seen him, his skin cool to the touch. He was awake, but completely limp, trembling violently. His pupils were blown, eyes twitching as they stared into nothing. His pulse raced at a rate that almost didn’t seem possible, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. Blood flowed steadily from the wound, Varian’s shirt already soaked through with it.

_Shock,_ Quirin realized. He was going into shock, and it might very well kill him.

“Varian!” The sense of urgency was an electric jolt to Quirin’s veins. He reached a hand out and cupped Varian’s face, desperately meeting his distant gaze. “Varian, look at me. _Son.”_

It took Varian a second to respond to the contact. He took a shuddering breath, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his gaze was sharper, more clear- and absolutely devastating.

“D- Dad?”

Relief nearly knocked Quirin over. “Hey there,” he said gently. “It’s alright, son, the worst of it is over. You were so brave.”

Fresh tears spilled down Varian’s cheeks. _“Dad,”_ he gasped.

“I know, I know, son.” Quirin gathered him into his arms, wincing when Varian let out a soft cry of pain. “It’s alright. I’m right here, I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

Varian said nothing as Quirin carried him up into the house, simply hid his face in Quirin’s shirt. His hand, his _only remaining hand,_ dug into Quirin’s skin in a death grip. Quirin kept talking to him as they went, a circular dialogue of meaningless words meant only to keep Varian distracted. His calm was a façade. His mind raced, his heart pounding as the severity of the situation fully sank in.

The nearest doctor was three hours away. Varian was in no condition to travel, especially with the storm setting in. But Quirin couldn’t just leave him alone while he went to get the doctor. Even if they were able to get through the weather, it’d be too late by the time they got back. He could tell with horrible certainty, just _looking_ at Varian.

They were on their own.

Quirin stepped into the main level of their house. If he couldn’t stop the bleeding, Varian was done for. The realization of what he’d have to do was a heavy weight on his chest. Gingerly, he set Varian down on the couch. He was thankful the fireplace was already lit, something he’d done in anticipation of the storm. He didn’t have any time to waste.

Pulling himself away from Varian’s side, Quirin crossed to the fireplace. He grabbed the metal poking rod and thrust it into the flames, watching carefully, and pulled it out before it started to glow red. He hurried back to Varian, dropping to his knees beside him.

“This will be over quick, Varian,” he said, unwrapping the blood-stained fabric from Varian’s wound. The flat tip of the poker hovered over the ragged flesh, and Quirin laid his other arm across Varian’s chest, holding him down. He steeled himself. “Take three deep breaths for me, and it will be over. Can you do that, son?”

Varian’s arm came up to wrap around Quirin’s, and he managed a slight nod. It was hard to determine if he was fully aware of everything or not. For his sake, Quirin hoped he wasn’t.

“Okay. Big breath in, Varian.”

Varian inhaled shakily, and Quirin pressed the hot metal to Varian’s skin.

A strangled sound tore itself from Varian’s throat. His back arched violently as he strained against Quirin’s grip, his head thrown back in a silent scream.

Quirin held steadfast, moving quickly to burn the edges of the wound together. The smell of cauterized flesh and blood filled the air. Varian sank back down, chest heaving as he struggled to breathe through it. In the span of a few seconds that felt much too long, it was finished. The skin was fused together, a dark ring of dead, burned tissue surrounding the edge of what remained of Varian’s arm.

Quirin set the fire poker down, taking Varian’s hand in his own. “Okay, okay, that part is done now, Varian. You did such a good job.”

Varian weakly squeezed his hand. He was still crying, but he didn’t seem to have the strength to make a sound. Quirin’s heart broke for him.

But his job wasn’t done yet.

The wound was too severe for the cauterization to be enough. It had stopped the bleeding for the time being, but it wouldn’t last. It’d have to be stitched up as well if it was going to hold.

Quirin straightened, giving Varian’s hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “One last thing, Varian, and it will all be done. Okay? I’ll be right back.”

Quirin searched the room quickly, digging around in cabinets and drawers until he found a needle and a spool of thread. He also gathered up some clean fabric he could use for bandages. Back at Varian’s side, he forced his hands to be steady as he looped the thread though the eye of the needle.

“We’re almost done, Varian,” Quirin promised. “Last part.”

Varian flinched as the needle slipped into his skin, making a pained whine, but otherwise remained still. Quirin couldn’t tell if he couldn’t feel it all because his nerves were so badly damaged, or if he just didn’t have the energy to react. Both were worrying prospects, gnawing at him as he worked.

Finally, the wound was closed. Quirin tied off the thread and started wrapping the bandages around Varian’s arm. “Alright, alright, it’s all done,” he said. “We’re done now, okay Varian? No more.” He ran a soothing hand over Varian’s hair. “You’ve been so brave.”

Varian was barely hanging on to consciousness. He looked up at Quirin through half-lidded eyes, a few tears running down his face.

“It’s okay, son. You can rest now.” Quirin rested his hand on Varian’s cheek, wiping away the tears with his thumb. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

Leaning into the touch, Varian let his eyes close with a quiet sigh. Sleep took him quickly, his face going slack as his breathing deepened and evened out.

After the sudden chaos, the roar of adrenaline in his ears and the thundering of his heart, Quirin almost found the silence unbearable. He sat motionless, unable tear his gaze away from the slight rise and fall of Varian’s chest, for the fear that it would stop the second he did.

Guilt ate Quirin up inside. None of this would have happened if he had just _listened_ to Varian about the black rocks. He should’ve known his son would try and take matters into his own hands. How could he expect Varian to sit by and do nothing? It wasn’t his _nature,_ he was curious and resourceful and he would never stop trying to help people. Quirin should’ve known better than to keep the truth from him and assume that his word would be enough.

Staring down at his son, mutilated and in agony and clinging to life, Quirin was filled with the horrible certainty that it was all his fault, and not just because it’d been _his_ hands gripping the sword.

What had he done?


	2. away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey readers! I’ll admit, I didn’t intend to take so long for this one to get out, but in all fairness, I’m a working college student who already writes two chapters a week for my other stories, and I never actually said when it was going to be finished…. plus, this one is extra long to make up for it. Over twice as long as the first :3
> 
> Also! If you don’t frequent tumblr then here’s a handy link to some incredible art drawn by my good friend ghosta-r (formerly snowprincess-artist).  
> http://ghosta-r.tumblr.com/post/170604673011/its-another-sad-au-remember-my-last-one-well
> 
> Please read on and enjoy, and please leave feedback! Your comments on the first chapter are really what kept me going. - Aqua

_chapter two – away_

~*~

cleave – to separate or increase distance; to pull away 

~*~

Varian woke up.

He blinked at the ceiling. It took a second for him to realize where he was- he couldn’t fathom why he’d have fallen asleep on the couch. Awareness gradually spread throughout his body, and with it came pain; a sharp ache too intense to even pinpoint its origin. It was all he could feel, terrifying and confusing him at the same time.

He sat up, and immediately regretted it. His head was throbbing, waves of nausea rushing through him as his stomach churned. He felt dizzy, unbalanced, and fell heavily onto his right elbow, propped up on the couch. Squeezing his eyes shut, he struggled to take slow, deep breaths through the nose, forcing down the bile rising in his throat.

What had happened? Why was he in so much _pain?_ The last thing he remembered was working on the black rocks, down in his lab… after that, his brain came to a screeching halt, as if unable or unwilling to recall what happened next.

Varian sank back into the couch, keeping his eyes closed against the light. The air was thick with the smell of rust and decay. His skin felt hot, his bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat. His shoes were off, and his shirt was stiff, the collar poking into his chin.

Something warm was pressed into his side, which he quickly identified as Ruddiger, chittering softly at him. The raccoon’s presence was a comfort, helping to calm the rising frenzy in Varian’s chest. His lip pulled up in a half smile as he reached over to stroke Ruddiger’s head.

Except his arm didn’t respond. Instead, there was a spasming of his nerves and pain shooting up his shoulder and an unexpected lightness to his left side that was like nothing he’d ever felt.

Varian’s eyes flew open, his heart jolting. He turned his head to look at his arm- and then looked again because _it wasn’t there._ A few inches past his shoulder, the limb ended in a swath of bloody fabric. Shock took his breath away, and he nearly fell off the couch (which, he now noticed, was stained with dried blood- as was his shirt).

_His arm was gone._

Varian opened his mouth to scream, but all that came out was a hoarse cry. His throat was raw, like he’d been drinking acid. He could only stare, his brain running frantic circles in an attempt to understand because his arm couldn’t just be _gone,_ that didn’t make any sense. Where was it? What happened? This was wrong, his arm was gone, gone, _gone-_

“Varian?” His dad’s voice carried from somewhere else in the house. “Varian, are you awake?”

Varian stopped breathing. His muscles locked at the sound, his eyes stinging with sudden tears. It all came crashing back down on him, memories flashing through his mind at breakneck speed.

_'Varian, watch out!'_

_He couldn’t move his hand. Trapped within glinting golden crystal, creeping ever forward to seize and encase and suffocate-_

_'Varian, do you trust me?'_

_**CRACK.** _

_His entire being exploded into pain. It was all he could think, all he could feel, so intense it seemed it would never end. And buried underneath there was the feeling of something else, something more- or maybe something less-_

Dad rounded the corner and appeared at the edges of Varian’s blurry vision, eyes widening as he took in the scene. “Varian!” He hurried over, footsteps thudding on wooden floors. “It’s alright, son, I’m-”

Varian was seized with panic. He flinched away, curling in on himself. His hand wrapped around the stump of his arm protectively, despite how much it hurt to touch it. All thought fled from his mind and suddenly he was back down in the lab, crystal eating up his arm, Dad’s voice behind him- _do you trust me do you trust me do you trust me_ \- before his world dissolved into pain and blood and- _no, no, no, **stop,** please stop, **not again-**_

But nothing was happening. The room was quiet, save for the pounding of his heart. Ruddiger hopped onto his lap, butting his head beneath Varian’s chin and giving a concerned trill. Dad had stopped in his tracks. Varian could feel his gaze on him, heavy like a blanket, heavy like a hand on his shoulder before the swing of a sword-

“Son.” Dad sounded heartbroken. “I… I’m not going to hurt you.”

Varian bit his lip to stop it from trembling. He _knew_ that. He did, it just- he hadn’t meant to- 

There was movement and the groan of shifting wood and Varian looked to see Dad sitting cross-legged on the floor. He hadn’t moved any closer, his hands resting flat on his knees. Varian forced his breathing to slow, running his hand across Ruddiger’s back.

“It’s alright, Varian,” Dad said. “Do you… remember what happened?”

Lowering his gaze, Varian nodded his head slightly. His fingers twisted in Ruddiger’s fur. 

Dad was silent for a few moments before speaking again. “You’ve been asleep for two days, son. I almost feared your fever would take you.” At Varian’s startled look, he elaborated. “Infection.”

Ah. So that explained the smell of rot. Varian swallowed, wincing at the thorny scratches of pain in his throat, and glanced down at his arm. As if he could see through the bandages, see the illness lurking beneath his skin. His mind was still trying to fill in the blank, picturing the rest of the limb like it was still there, and when that failed, trying to imagine what the gory remains of it must look like-

“Varian?” Dad’s voice was impossibly soft. The look in his eyes held a million questions, ones Varian had none of the answers to.

He was supposed to say something, he knew. Let his dad know how he was feeling, what he was thinking, if he was okay or not even if the answer to that was _painfully clear._

But even as he sat there, phantom pains seized his nerves and the glint of a sword flashed behind his eyes and he couldn’t form any of the chaos in his brain into coherent thought. All he could manage was a truly pathetic whine that only slightly resembled the word, _“Dad.”_

Dad made an aborted movement, reaching out to hug Varian but quickly catching himself.

Varian was conflicted. Part of him wanted to accept the comfort, to reach out and curl up in his dad’s arms. But another part of him, a bigger, louder, panicked part, was still hearing Dad’s voice down in the lab, feeling him cut through flesh and bone. He wanted- he _needed-_ what did he need? He didn’t know, he didn’t _know,_ it was too much and he felt like he was choking on it, choking on blood and the rawness of his throat-

Water. That was a need easily identified, easily fixed.

Varian pulled his hand away from Ruddiger and lifted it to his throat, pointing, and then mimed drinking.

“Sure, son, I’ll get you some water.” Dad was good at hiding his sadness, but Varian saw it in his hesitation, hoping for something else, something more-

Dad’s footsteps faded away. Varian blinked his stinging eyes and turned to hide his face in the couch, his arm wrapping around Ruddiger. He took a shuddering breath.

Things were never going to be the same.

~*~

Quirin carefully unraveled the dirty bandages around Varian’s arm, bracing himself for the smell of old blood.

The doctor had left him with strict instructions to clean and redress the wound every several hours, sooner if the bandages bled through. Varian didn’t even remember the man’s visit; he’d been in the throes of infection at the time only hours after the incident, barely conscious.

Not for the first time, Quirin was thankful he had neighbors willing to help out. Once the storm let up, he still hadn’t felt comfortable leaving Varian in order to get the doctor. So Gerald, two houses down, had gone for him, delivering a note that explained the situation in more detail that Quirin had wanted to share with him. He’d asked Gerald in the first place because the man was content to work off of less information than most, and he hadn’t pressured Quirin for details about Varian’s condition.

Quirin didn’t know what he would’ve done without the doctor’s help. After he’d tidied up Quirin’s rough stitches and trimmed off any dead tissue, he’d given Quirin the medicine that was slowly bringing Varian’s infection to an end over the past three days. He was still a bit too feverish for Quirin’s liking, but as long as the wound was kept clean, it seemed Varian was out of the woods.

As far as sickness was concerned, anyways. Varian had a long road to recovery ahead of him, in many regards.

“Alright, son, here it comes,” Quirin warned him, pressing a medicine-soaked rag to the wound.

Varian inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. He kept his eyes shut, his face turned away like he did every other time Quirin cleaned the wound. Varian had always been squeamish at the sight of blood. When he was younger, something as simple as a skinned knee could send him fainting. It wasn’t as bad now, but the wound would definitely be too much for him as it was. Once the stitches came out and the skin healed over completely, maybe he’d be able to stand it.

He’d _have_ to get used to it, at some point. Another thought that made Quirin’s heart ache.

But all things considering, Varian had adjusted… well. Not that Quirin had any metric to measure by. He was withdrawn, sure, making Quirin long for that vibrant energy to return to him, the high-spirited optimism and dogged tenacity that could even be overbearing at times. And he had yet to talk about what’d happened, his avoidance on the subject a little worrying. But it wasn’t the devastating fallout Quirin had feared. So for that, he was grateful.

“There, finished.” Quirin took up the clean bandages and started redressing Varian’s arm. “Now, Gerald said he might stop by later, so if anyone knocks just come get me.”

“Have you told anyone what happened?” Varian asked quietly.

Quirin paused. “No, I… wanted to leave that up to you. I’ve told them you’re sick with fever, that’s all.”

Varian’s expression was hard to read. “Oh. Okay.”

Quirin finished tying off the clean bandage. He cleared his throat. “I’ll let you rest, then.”

“Alright.” Varian seemed to hesitate. “Uh, hey, Dad? I just-”

The ground started to rumble, and the shriek of splintering wood pierced the air. Quirin glanced over his shoulder to see one of those cursed black rocks slowly rising through the floor, a dark thorn in the middle of the room. 

Quirin’s heart jolted at the sight, unease washing over him like a fog. It seemed he couldn’t go a single day without them reasserting their presence, looming on the outskirts like carrion birds drawing their circle tighter and tighter as they waited for the kill. It made Quirin despise them even more, and he wanted to rage and scream at them that they would _not_ take his son from him; not now, not _ever-_

Varian had been staring at it, but quickly looked away when Quirin turned back to him. It made him pause, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach.

“Varian?” he prompted. 

“Hm?”

“You okay, son?”

“Oh- yeah, yeah, just… is anything being done about the rocks?” Varian was avoiding his gaze, his voice and expression carefully neutral. He picked at his shirt, feigning disinterest.

Quirin knew that look. “Varian...” He had to fight to keep his voice steady. “If you’re still thinking about trying to-”

“What, figure out how to stop them?” Reproach crept into Varian’s voice. “Why not? If- if nobody else is going to do anything about it, then-”

“I forbid you from meddling with them, Varian, and for good reason-”

“What do you want me to say?” Varian demanded, rising to his feet. “That- that you were right, and I never should have been messing with them in the first place? Because I _know,_ Dad.” Pain flashed across his features. _“Believe me, I know.”_

Quirin’s heart tightened. “Varian-”

“But the fact is that these rocks aren’t going away, and despite _this,”_ Varian gestured to his stump with a sharp wave of his hand, “nothing’s changed!”

_“Everything’s changed,”_ Quirin shot back, fear making his temper spike. Even after all this, Varian _still_ couldn’t seem to understand that the rocks were off limits. “You’re going to have to trust me, son!”

Varian’s eyes widened. “Trust you? _Trust you?”_ His voice was ragged. _“How_ can I trust you? Look what you’ve _done_ to me!”

The silence that came after was the harshest Quirin had ever heard.

Varian seemed stunned in an almost-horror, the angry flush in his cheeks paling. The look on his face was just shy of regretful; he hadn’t meant to say it, but he’d _meant_ it.

Quirin bowed his head. There were a dozen things he could say to try and defend himself. Each of them turned to dust in his mouth. It wouldn’t change anything. Because they both knew it’d been the only way, but it seemed their emotions hadn’t quite caught on yet.

Varian swallowed hard and turned away. “Dad, I- I…” His arm wrapped around his middle, gripping his empty sleeve. It was like he couldn’t stand to look at Quirin- or maybe Varian couldn’t bear to face him.

“It’s alright,” Quirin said. The words sounded hollow. “I’ll… be in my room.”

Varian said nothing as Quirin passed him, just turned his face away even more.

Once behind the closed door, Quirin sat on his bed and put his head in his hands. _This will pass,_ he told himself. _We will get through this. It’s not going to ruin us._

(That didn’t mean he believed it.)

~*~

“I’m going to be out for a bit, Varian. Will you be okay here?”

Varian glanced over at the sound of Dad’s voice. Ruddiger was curled up on his feet, fast asleep, having made himself right at home on the couch. Varian hadn’t been able to bring himself to move back up into his room, not just because of the hassle of going up and down stairs, but because it’d mean Dad’s room was farther away.

(Because as of late, Varian faced the dizzying conundrum of wanting to be both near and far away from his Dad at the same time).

“Yeah,” Varian murmured, looking away from the concern in Dad’s eyes.

Dad seemed to linger for a moment, his hand resting on the door handle. “I’ll… see you soon,” he said finally.

“Okay.”

The front door closed behind him, and Varian sighed.

Things had been… strained, since their fight four days ago. They were tiptoeing around each other, and Varian hated it. As if he hadn’t already given Dad enough reasons to treat him like he was made of glass. And to make matters worse, more and more black rocks were cropping up in the odd corners of the house. Varian had no doubt that if he went outside, he’d find the entire _village_ infested. 

Not that he could. Dad had all but forbidden Varian to go outside, insisting he needed rest. But it’d been a whole week and if he didn’t get up and do something he was going to lose his mind.

And Varian knew just where to start- a prosthetic arm.

He’d had nothing to occupy himself with while resting, so he’d already started coming up with designs in his head. Envisioning blueprints and schematics was as simple a thing as daydreaming, but far more important. It wasn’t just that he missed the use of his limb (even simple tasks such as dressing himself had become difficult, which was to say nothing for how he was going to get by in his alchemy). 

He needed _something_ there. Every time he looked to the left, it was like his brain was misfiring. His nerves would seize painfully, struggling to sense the missing arm. The lack of expected weight left him feeling unbalanced, uneven, incomplete- and all together it was just a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

(And sure, maybe he was trying to convince himself that building a prosthetic would fix everything- but if he didn’t believe it, what other choice did he have?)

Varian swung his legs off the couch, giving Ruddiger an apologetic look as he disturbed the raccoon’s slumber. He automatically wrapped his arm around his middle as he stood. Perhaps a subconscious effort to distribute the weight more evenly, perhaps a mimicry of a human embrace meant to calm his nerves. Either way, it was instinctive. His hand tightened around the fabric of his empty left sleeve as he walked, a sort of habit he was forming. Swerving around the black rocks, he stopped just in front of the door that led downstairs, glancing over his shoulder at the front door to make sure he wasn’t about to be walked in on.

He didn’t expect Dad would be happy about it if he knew. He’d think Varian was pushing himself too hard, too soon, and would want him to rest instead. But his arm wasn’t getting any better (well, the wound could stand to heal over a bit more if he were being honest, but that didn’t matter). If he could at least make some kind of start on a prosthetic, maybe it would ease the unbearable clamoring in his chest, the frantic need to _do_ something that constantly ate at him.

And he couldn’t get back to work on the rocks one-handed…

Varian grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, throwing his weight back into his heels. The heavy wood creaked slowly, revealing the darkened staircase that led to his lab. His heart jolted at the sight of it.

Ruddiger pressed himself against Varian’s legs, giving a low, worried trill.

Varian’s stomach was in knots. “It’s- it’s okay, Ruddiger,” he said quietly. The reassurance was partly for himself.

This was ridiculous- he couldn’t be afraid of his own _lab._ It was his workshop, his refuge- he spent more time in there than in his own bedroom, sometimes even falling asleep in his determination to finish a project. He wasn’t going to let this ruin it for him, the way it’d ruined everything else.

Taking a deep breath, Varian started down the stairs. Ruddiger weaved through his legs, chittering in alarm. Shushing the raccoon gently, Varian trailed his hand along the stone wall as he went, cold seeping through his glove. The slight drop in temperature was only noticed because he was expecting it, the familiar smell of chemicals hanging in the damp air.

Varian hopped off the last step. “O- okay,” he said, nerves making his voice jittery. “See, Ruddiger? It’s fine. There’s nothing to be-”

The words died on his tongue. He stopped in his tracks at the sight before him, all the air drawing from his lungs in a strangled gasp.

A smear of dried blood trailed across the floor, a gory red carpet leading to the crown jewel. The crystal sat glittering in the center of the room, translucent golden teeth stretching towards the ceiling. It radiated all the quiet intensity of a lethal predator crouched in wait, poised to strike the killing blow. And trapped inside that crystal was Varian’s mangled, bloody arm.

Varian’s legs buckled. The smell of bile filled his nose as his stomach emptied itself and his knees stung from where they’d slammed into the ground. His ears were ringing, his breath coming faster and faster. All the strength fled from his body, and suddenly his cheek was pressed against the cold, hard ground.

The scream that’d been trapped inside him finally broke free, and Varian’s world faded away into a haze of agony.

~*~

Quirin tied down the last flap of the tarp, the wood of the cart groaning slightly beneath its load.

“There.” He straightened up and gave his work a once over. “Should hold just fine for you, Berndt.”

The man’s house had been a casualty of a particularly violent burst of rocks- thankfully, while the family was away. But it’d been quite a feat for the two men to maneuver everything important out, packing it up for their journey to the new settlement. Berndt’s wife and child, a daughter of five years, sat in the front of the cart. The girl had watched the process with interest from her mother’s lap, and now gave Quirin a shy smile, which he gently returned.

Berndt clapped a hand on Quirin’s shoulder. “Thank you for your help,” he said. “It would’ve been impossible to get everything out without you.” 

“Of course,” Quirin replied. “I hope you’ll have everything you need to start over.”

Berndt’s expression grew somber. “You ought to be joining us, Quirin. It’s not safe here anymore.”

Quirin grit his teeth at the reminder. Everyone had been expecting him to organize the move, but it’d fallen to the wayside. He’d done what he could, helping people pack up their homes, but he couldn’t go with them. Varian wasn’t ready.

“I appreciate your concern,” Quirin said. “But Varian’s in no condition to travel.”

“If you wait any longer, it may be too late,” Berndt warned.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Quirin gave him a tight smile. “Travel safe.”

“Aye.” The look in Berndt’s eyes was more one of pity than anything else as he turned away.

Quirin let the conversation die there, bending over to grab the cloth sack at his feet. He’d been able to scavenge some wood from the house that hadn’t been splintered beyond use. It’d make good tinder for the fireplace. The haphazard holes torn into the walls and floors of his house by the rocks let heat out more easily, so their fireplace was invaluable. As a result, Quirin was always short of firewood, and got it where he could.

Shouldering the bag, Quirin set off down the quiet street. Empty, decimated buildings leered down at him as he passed, black rocks gleaming in every shadow. There weren’t many people left in the village now. Some had jumped at the first opportunity to settle the land the king had reserved for them. Others still dragged their feet, reluctant to leave their lifelong homes. But Berndt was right; it was getting more difficult to live with the rocks, and Quirin was forced to start thinking about what would be next for him and Varian.

Particularly Varian.

Quirin trudged up the steps to his house, the bag of wood jostling against him uncomfortably. He worried a lot about what Varian would do now, how he’d get by. He was talented and pragmatic and intelligent beyond his years- Quirin knew this. He worried anyways.

One of the stipends of fatherhood, he supposed.

“Varian?” Quirin pushed the door open. “Varian, I’m home,” he called, glancing around the room. The couch was empty, no noise from the kitchen. “Son?”

There was a faint scuffing sound, and Varian’s pet raccoon came bounding into the room, claws scratching on the wooden floor. The creature’s tail was fluffed up in alarm, ears pinned flat against its head as it chattered at Quirin incessantly. Almost like it was trying to tell him something.

Brows furrowing, Quirin looked in the direction it’d come from- the _lab._ His heart jolted. The door to Varian’s lab was open.

Quirin dropped the bag.

_“Son!”_

His feet moved of his own accord, taking him down the stairs three at a time. A pit of ice settled in his stomach, and he cursed himself for not thinking to clean up the blood and cover up the crystal, for not thinking that Varian might go down there-

_Varian._

His son was curled up on the floor beside a puddle of sick. He was shaking violently, his arm wrapped around his stomach and his knees drawn to his chest. Tears streamed down his face as he gasped for breath in between ragged cries.

“Varian!” Without thinking, Quirin went to pull Varian in his arms, to comfort him-

_“No!”_ Varian cringed away from him. “No, no, no, please- please stop!” His voice was a breathless scream, shrill and full of pain. His eyes were clouded, trapped in a memory. _“Please,_ p- please don’t…”

Heart breaking, Quirin drew his hands away. He… he wasn’t the right person for this, he was just making things worse. Varian was reliving a nightmare, too horrible for most people to even imagine, and Quirin was a part of it. It didn’t matter that he’d done it to save Varian’s life. It didn’t matter that it’d been the only choice. He was the last thing Varian needed right now.

_**‘How** can I trust you? Look what you’ve **done** to me!’_

But Varian had no one else. Just Quirin.

Quirin reached out and took Varian in his arms. Varian cried out and struggled to break free, his movements and his breathing panicked. But Quirin held fast, a hand cradling Varian’s head like when he was younger, the other rubbing gentle circles on Varian’s back.

“It’s alright, son,” he murmured over Varian’s sobs. “It’s alright.”

Varian thrashed in his grip, pushing against Quirin in a desperate attempt to get away. The pure terror in his voice was agonizing to listen to. But eventually, Varian’s panic started to ebb. He sagged into the embrace, lying limp against Quirin’s chest, and his wails subsided into whimpers. His hand tightened in Quirin’s shirt, the fabric damp with tears, and for a while he just breathed, his heartbeat coming down from its peak.

Quirin sensed the moment Varian came back to himself, the sudden tension in his muscles. Slowly, he pulled away to study Varian’s face.

“Son?”

Varian’s eyes widened before he wrenched himself out of Quirin’s arms, scrambling to his feet. “I- I don’t-” His breathing hitched. “I’m _sorry.”_

Varian turned and fled.

Quirin was left reeling. For a moment he just sat there, surrounded by the smell of blood and bile. Instinctively, part of him wanted to go after Varian, to make sure he was okay. But he’d been through enough for one day- Quirin didn’t think he could bring himself to cause any more pain. Because the simple fact was that his son was afraid of him. He took a deep breath that shuddered in his chest, and rose to his feet.

He went to find a mop.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please note that trying to bring someone out of a panic attack by embracing them is unlikely to work in real life and is not advised. - Aqua


	3. together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi readers! Well, these chapters just took longer and longer, huh? But they also got progressively longer; this one is just about 7,500 words, so hopefully that makes up for it! I do appreciate everyone who left feedback, and I hope you’ll consider doing so as _cleaved_ comes to a close. Somewhere along the way, this went from a generic whump fic to a really special story about a small, broken family coming together to overcome tragedy. I’m very happy with it, and I hope you enjoy! - Aqua

__

_chapter three – together_

~*~

__

cleave – to adhere closely; to cling to

__

~*~ 

Quirin hesitated at the top of the stairs.

His gloved hands tightened on the plate of food he was holding as he stared down the dark stairwell. Shaking his head, he started the descent, calling out as he went.

“Varian?” He always made sure to announce his arrivals, now, not wanting to catch his son off-guard. As Quirin entered the lab, he had to repress a shudder- the room had an almost sinister feel to it, and he would have been perfectly happy to never set foot in there again.

It’d almost been a week since he’d found Varian curled on the floor of his lab, shaking and sobbing. But Varian had been back down there after only a day, getting to work on a prosthetic arm.

Quirin had been against it. He’d cleaned up the dried blood, of course. And the crystal was covered with a massive tarp sewn together from spare blankets and clothes, hiding the painful reminder trapped within. But that didn’t mean it was a good environment for Varian. Quirin was worried that being down there would cause another breakdown.

But Varian seemed convinced he could handle it. _“It was just the shock,”_ he’d said. _“I’m fine now, and working on the prosthetic will keep my mind busy, anyways.”_

Ultimately, Quirin allowed it. Forbidding Varian from starting his plans for a prosthetic, even if it required working in the place of the accident, was just too cruel. And admittedly, it had been alright so far. True to his word, Varian had invested himself in his work and hadn’t experienced another breakdown since the first.

That didn’t mean things were okay. But for the moment, they weren’t falling apart even more, so that would have to be enough.

“Varian?” Quirin’s eyes adjusted to the dimly lit chamber, spotting Varian at his workbench. “Hey, son.”

Varian turned to face him. “Dad.”

He seemed a little startled at Quirin’s presence, but not in a panicked way. More like he was confused, wondering why Quirin had come to see him. While better than the alternative, it still hurt; Quirin didn’t use to need a reason to see his son. Varian didn’t use to question why Quirin would _want_ to see him, the way he seemed to do now.

Quirin gave a tentative smile. “I brought you lunch,” he said, lightly setting the plate of food down on the table.

Varian blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”

Quirin could tell just from the look in Varian’s eyes that he had no intention of eating. His appetite seemed poor these days, and while that was understandable, considering all he’d been through, it was yet another cause for Quirin to worry. He’d let it go for now, but he was going to make sure Varian ate a good dinner.

Quirin cleared his throat. “So how’s it coming, son?” he asked, nodding at the parts scattered along the workbench. “Know what you’re going to do?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m- I’m glad you brought that up.” Varian picked at his empty left sleeve. “I… think I’ve figured it out.” He paused, looking at Quirin out of the corner of his eye. Like he was asking for permission to continue.

The uncertainty in his expression made Quirin’s heart tighten. “… alright,” he said encouragingly.

Varian’s eyes darted away again, sweeping over his workbench. “Um, so biology isn’t really my forte, but- but the human body is essentially like any machine. The brain sends electrical signals to the muscles to prompt movement, so I- so if I attach sensors to the muscles and hook the prosthetic up to them, it’ll receive and interpret the impulses the way an organic arm would. Not perfectly, of course. There’ll be an unavoidable delay, but the more I experiment with it, the more I should be able to cut it down.”

It was the _should_ that made Quirin wary, but if anyone could figure out how to build a substitute arm that functioned just as good as a real one, it was Varian.

“Obviously,” Varian continued, “it’ll need maintenance pretty regularly, so detaching the sensors from the muscles every time just wouldn’t be practical. So it’ll be- it’ll be one permanent, contained unit here,” he covered his hand over the end of his arm, “like a port for the prosthetic to fit into. That way, I can just remove the prosthetic whenever I need to without disturbing the sensors.”

Even if the science went over his head, Quirin found himself captivated. It was the most Varian had spoken to him in almost three weeks. It reminded him of the way things had been before, when Varian would excitedly tell Quirin all about his latest project, all confidence and visions of grandeur.

He had none of that confidence now. Quirin found a part of himself wondering if Varian had ever had it all. Had it always just been a show, to hide his insecurities? The thought didn’t sit well with him.

“Alright,” he said after a moment. “What’s the plan?”

Varian made a noncommittal noise. “It took me a few days to develop the idea, and then a couple more to actually build them all. But they're ready now.” He held up a tiny flat disc of metal, like a coin the size of a small pebble. “Problem is, the sensors have to- have to be physically attached to the muscles through surgery. I can’t do it, and you can’t do it, so we need to get the doctor here. If the right sensor isn’t attached to the right muscle, it won’t work correctly.”

Quirin blinked at the pile of sensors, about a dozen in total. “You built those in two days?”

Varian jerked his shoulders in a shrug. “I- I could’ve had them done sooner, if it wasn’t for…” he trailed off awkwardly, pointedly avoiding his left side, and coughed. “So. We just- we just need the doctor, now.”

“Okay,” Quirin nodded. “I can go get him tomorrow, and-”

“Can we do it today?” A hint of desperation leaked into Varian’s voice. “It’s- it’s just that I have to get these in before I can really start working on the prosthetic.”

Quirin hesitated. He didn’t like how fast things were moving, but if Varian’s way of coping was to keep distracted, keep working, then Quirin couldn’t bring himself to start an argument over it.

“Alright, son,” he relented, his voice gentle. “I’ll see if he can come. But there’s no guarantee.”

“Okay.” Varian turned away, effectively ending the conversation.

Quirin lingered for a moment, wanting to say something else but not knowing what. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned back to the staircase and left without a word.

It was a long trip to the doctor’s; he might as well get going.

~*~

Varian said nothing as Dad left the lab.

He waited at his workbench as Dad vanished back upstairs. He listened to the muffled footsteps above him as Dad got ready to go, heard the front door open and close. He watched through the small window, the only one in the lab, as Dad’s figure retreated farther and farther down the road until he disappeared.

Varian let out a deep, shuddering breath and dragged his hand down his face. It was supposed to be getting easier. With every day that passed, it was supposed to be easier to be around Dad and his arm was supposed to hurt less and there were supposed to be fewer nights spent waking up in a cold sweat, trembling from a night terror. He was supposed to be getting used to functioning with only one arm, to stop dropping things after expecting his non-existent left hand to be there to grab them.

But that wasn’t the case. None of it was getting easier and Varian didn’t know how much more of it he could take- how much longer he could break down in frustration after struggling with something that should’ve been simple and muffle his crying so Dad wouldn’t hear and force himself to keep going. It was exhausting and disheartening and even thinking about it made tears prick at his eyes, quickly blinked away.

Varian’s gaze fell on the plate of food Dad had left him. A hopeful rumble started in his stomach, but he pushed it down. Sighing, he slid his fingers beneath the plate and lifted it off his workbench, carrying it to some other table to sit and go bad, like many of his other meals this past week.

Normally, when focused on a project, he’d work while he ate. Sandwiches were his favorite for their convenience; it only took one hand to hold one, while the other could continue scribbling down notes or working some calculation. 

Now, though, eating meant his work came to a full stop- which was an unacceptable waste of valuable time, time spent with nothing to occupy himself with and leaving him vulnerable to dangerous thoughts, to despair, to pain. So, he avoided it when he could.

As Varian turned back to his workbench, his eyes landed on the hulking shape of the crystal. His gaze rested there for only a moment before darting away. It may have been covered beneath a tarp now, but that didn’t make it easy to be around, a cold knot of dread curling in his stomach.

Not that he’d let Dad know. Varian had to be down here to work on a prosthetic, so he just had to deal with it. Dad, though… Dad would get concerned at the first sign Varian was distressed, would forbid him from being down in the lab.

Varian couldn’t let that happen. He needed to build a prosthetic- he needed it like air. It was the only thing stopping him from completely giving into despair. The promise that things would get better kept him determined enough to try again and again, working tediously slow as he fumbled with one hand trying to execute ideas meant for two.

Shaking his head, Varian reached for the pile of sensors. He still had to run through a final check of their coding, and he’d wasted enough time as it was. Dad would be back in a few hours with the doctor, and once the sensors were in place, the real progress would begin.

He just had to hang on until then.

(That wasn’t getting easier, either.)

~*~

“Well,” the doctor said slowly, “that’s a first.”

Varian had just finished giving the doctor a detailed explanation on the sensors and how they had to be attached, even bringing his notes on the subject. The sensors and the metal contraption Varian had built sat waiting in a small basket.

Though Quirin was grateful the doctor, Dr. Alan, was able to come on such short notice, he was having second thoughts about agreeing to do it that day. Listening to Varian explain what he needed made Quirin feel that they should’ve given Dr. Alan some more time to prepare. It was certainly outside the realm of typical medical procedures.

Varian sat on the dining table, his fingers drumming anxiously on the wood. Quirin had dragged it into the living room, as the light was better and there was more space than in the kitchen, which was completely overrun with black rocks as of yesterday. It was the best he could do for an operating table, but fortunately Dr. Alan was used to it, home visits being his primary source of work.

“So- so can you help us?” Varian asked hesitantly. Like he was worried he’d scared the doctor off.

Dr. Alan smiled kindly. “I’ll admit, I’m not used to putting metal _inside_ my patients. But you’ve explained it brilliantly, my boy, and I have your notes to refer to should I need them.” His voice was reassuring. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Varian took a shaky breath before nodding. “O- okay.”

“Here, let me get you an anesthetic.” Dr. Alan snapped open his medical bag, withdrawing a glass bottle of dark liquid. He poured a small, measured amount into a tin cup and handed it to Varian. “Best get it down in one go, it’s not the most pleasant taste,” he said with a wink.

Varian studied the drink for a moment before tipping his head back, downing the cup. He started coughing as soon as he swallowed, only just managing to keep it down. Eyes watering, he handed the cup back to Dr. Alan.

“Y- you know,” he grit out, his voice rasping, “s- some mint would help with that, without a- affecting the properties of the- of the other in- ingredients.”

“Huh. I’ll keep that in mind,” Dr. Alan mused. “Now, I’ll go get washed up. Go ahead and lay down, it should work very quickly.”

The doctor took his leave. Varian eased back onto the table, setting his head down with a sigh. Quirin stood at Varian’s side, uneasy. While he knew the surgery couldn’t possibly be worse than the incident itself, and everything that’d come after, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous for his son.

Not to mention how it felt having a doctor in the house again. It brought up… unpleasant memories. The first time with Varian, when he was just recovering from the amputation. And all those years ago when his wife fell ill. The pinched, somber expressions of the white-coated men moving about the house as if it were a tomb, and all the while knowing it might as well have been one…

Varian spoke up suddenly. “Dad? You here?” His words were slightly slurred as he stared straight up at the ceiling, blinking.

Quirin shook himself from his thoughts. “Yes, son,” he said, studying Varian’s face. It seemed the anesthetic was indeed working, Varian’s pupils blown and his eyelids heavy.

“Okay, cool…” Varian idly tapped the toes of his boots together, like a young child. “D’you know if he’s almost done? With ma’ arm?”

Quirin paused, taking another look at Varian and noting how unfocused and distant his gaze had become. “No, Varian, we haven’t started yet,” he said softly.

Varian’s eyebrows shot up, even as his eyelids drooped further. “No way…” he breathed. “A- are you kiddin’ me?”

“I’m afraid not,” Quirin replied, amused. That anesthetic was some strong stuff. “Just close your eyes and rest, and when you wake up it’ll be over.”

“I know I need t’rest,” Varian said matter-of-factly, which was hard, considering he sounded like a sleepy six-year old. “I need ta’ lay down, put m’head back, an’ go t’sleep. Am I right?”

A smile tugged at Quirin’s mouth. “That’s right, son.”

Varian seemed satisfied. “That’s wha’ I like to hear, goodnight…”

“Goodnight,” Quirin returned. It wasn’t yet past evening, but he was at a loss for anything else to say. In a way, it was nice to see Varian so relaxed, even if he was just delirious from the drug. He’d become such a fearful, closed-off person lately, and Quirin hurt to know that he’d played a part in that.

It was another minute before Varian spoke, his voice faint. “Dad, is it… is it jus’ you an’ me here?” he asked.

“Yes,” Quirin assured him.

Varian moved his hand sluggishly, reaching for Quirin’s. Quirin gingerly took Varian’s hand in his own, surprised by the affectionate gesture.

“H- hey Dad?” Varian murmured. “I… I think ‘m a lil’ scared…”

Quirin’s throat tightened. He lightly squeezed Varian’s hand. “It’s going to be okay, Varian. I’ll be right here the whole time, alright?”

Varian exhaled slowly. “Okay. Goodnight.” His eyes finally slipped closed. His hand grew limp, and he was out, his breathing deep and even.

Quirin looked up at the sound of Dr. Alan’s footsteps, the man now donned in gloves. “Are we ready to get started?” he asked expectantly.

Quirin swallowed. “Looks that way,” he replied, setting Varian’s hand down.

Dr. Alan approached the table, taking in Varian’s sleeping form. “Ah, see, I knew it’d work fast.” He grinned. “I must say, your son is quite the bright young man, Quirin,” he added, as he double-checked Varian’s level of unconsciousness.

Quirin was surprised at the praise; not because he disagreed with it, but because so few saw Varian that way. “Thank you,” he said, gazing at Varian fondly. “I’m lucky to have him.”

“I’ll do my best to follow his specifications,” Dr. Alan continued, cleaning a scalpel with a medicine-soaked rag. “And I’ll take extra care to make the recovery process as stress-free as possible, considering what the limb has already been through. But this is a fairly low-risk procedure, and I’m confident we won’t have any trouble.”

And with that, he put the scalpel to Varian’s skin.

The procedure probably only took a few hours, but to Quirin it felt like days. He hovered by Dr. Alan’s side, providing help when requested- there was a lot of blood to be wiped away, after all. The scent quickly filled the whole house, made more chilling by the silence- there was only Varian’s gentle breathing, and the faint clink of the doctor’s metal instruments.

Occasionally, Dr. Alan would probe at a nerve in Varian’s arm, causing him to twitch. For a dreadful moment, Quirin would fear that Varian was regaining consciousness, and it’d take a while for his heart to climb down from his throat.

Finally, everything was in place, all the incisions sewn up and cleaned. Dr. Alan took a step back, eyes sweeping over his work, before glancing over at Quirin with a satisfied nod.

“Well, that should do it.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and started polishing his spectacles. “Care to have a look?”

Quirin stepped closer. The metal almost looked like it was melded to Varian’s flesh, like a cap on the end of his arm. The skin around it was red and irritated, and likely would be for days to come as it healed from the invasive procedure. Quirin could see the exposed ends of the wires poking out, ready to be connected to a prosthetic and deliver the signals from Varian’s brain.

A feeling that was hard to identify made Quirin’s throat tighten. It was… nowhere near as bad as the bare wound itself had been, but it was still foreign. Hard to process. He felt like every time he looked at it, there was still that moment of shock, that brief pause and the accompanying lurch in his stomach as he remembered.

Quirin couldn’t say he’d ever been stranded in a desert, but he’d heard of the effects of mirages. A trick of the light and an addled brain, causing one to see things that weren’t true. He imagined the feeling was similar- like his mind was trying to convince him to see something that wasn’t really there.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you. I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.”

“I’m only doing my job.” Dr. Alan waved away Quirin’s thanks and started packing up his equipment. “Now, I wish I could stay to ensure there are no complications, but I have other clients I must tend to. He’ll come out of the anesthesia within the hour, and all the swelling and irritation should be gone in a couple days. If you notice anything abnormal, send for me right away. And keep it clean; we don’t want another infection setting in.”

Quirin nodded as he walked the doctor to the door. “Alright. I appreciate all your help. And I’ll send the rest of your payment as soon as I can-”

“Oh, what you’ve already given me is fine,” Dr. Alan said, turning away. “Just send me a letter, hm? Let me know how he’s recovering? It’s not every day you get a case like this, and I’d like to see how it turns out.”

Quirin was stunned. “I… I will. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it!” Dr. Alan called in parting. “Best of luck to you both!”

Quirin watched the doctor disappear down the road. Sighing, he closed the door and turned back to where Varian laid unconscious. Feet weary, he dragged a chair up beside Varian and all but collapsed into it. He settled in to wait, his gaze resting attentively on the rise and fall of Varian’s chest.

It was nerve-wracking; each slight stutter in Varian’s breathing made Quirin panic, worried that something was wrong. It was a disturbing echo of those first two days following the accident, Varian’s face slack and feverish. He’d been so still, struggling to overcome the infection coursing through his veins-

But this was different, Quirin reminded himself. He was unconscious only because he’d been given a tonic made to do exactly that, not because he was fighting for his life. This was a low-risk medical procedure, he was going to be fine.

That became Quirin’s anthem, in those quiet, lonely moments; _he’s going to be fine, he’s going to be fine, he’s going to be fine._

True to Dr. Alan’s words, Varian eventually started to stir. His face twisted in pain, and let out a soft groan, eyes fluttering open. He laid still for a moment, as if gathering his bearings, before pushing himself up, propped on his elbow.

“Dad?” His clouded eyes struggled to focus on Quirin. “Is… is it over?” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

“Yes, son, it’s over,” Quirin said gently, relief flooding through him. “Everything went just fine, and Dr. Alan said it should start feeling better in a few days.”

Varian glanced down at his arm. He looked at it for a long time, long enough that Quirin started to wonder if he was about to doze off again, before inhaling slowly. He lifted his gaze to meet Quirin’s again.

“Time to get to work,” Varian said.

~*~

__

_‘Dear Dr. Alan,_

_It’s been six days since the operation as I write this, and will likely be one more when it reaches you. Varian’s recovering well. He’s already up and moving, despite my insistence. We’ve been keeping the site clean and he’s being careful with it. He’s started on a prosthetic arm, believe it or not. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had it finished in another week.’_

Quirin had only been able to convince Varian to rest for a day before he was up again, claiming that it was fine because, _“I’m not gonna attach anything yet, but I can at least get the prosthetic ready for when it’s healed enough!”_ And Quirin didn’t have the heart to make Varian to stay in bed longer- he could tell how much it pained his son to not be doing _anything,_ and being forceful with him was probably the last thing he needed. Quirin just couldn’t bring himself to raise his voice at Varian, not since realizing Varian was scared of him.

So Varian worked in his lab. Quirin scavenged materials from the abandoned houses and brought them down; whatever Varian needed to build himself a new arm (and he tried not to think about how unsettling that sentence was).

 _‘I’m keeping a close eye on him,’_ Quirin continued to write. _‘As close as he’ll let me, in any case.’_

Varian’s behavior was worrying. He was becoming more and more distant every day. Part of it was him just slipping back into that tunnel-vision he got whenever he became too focused on a project. Quirin was well used to Varian skipping meals and neglecting sleep, until it got so bad Quirin had to interfere. But this was different; another part of it was because of Quirin, he could tell. It was like Varian couldn’t stand to be near him- he spoke little to Quirin, hardly even looked at him.

_‘But I am hopeful for his prospects. There don’t seem to be any complications with the surgery, and he’s quite satisfied with your work. Again, I extend to you my most sincere thanks for your help and generosity-’_

“Dad?” Varian’s voice floated up the stairs from the lab and in through Quirin’s open door, sounding uncertain. “Can- can you come down here?”

Quirin stood quickly, dropping the quill on his desk. For Varian to willingly ask for him, it had to be important. He hurried out of his room and down the stairs, forcing himself not to jump to conclusions. Varian hadn’t sounded hurt or panicked, so there was no need to get worked up.

He finally reached the last step, his boots echoing on the stone floor. Trying not to wince at the sight of the giant tarp-covered crystal in the center of the room, he rested his gaze on Varian. He was standing at his workbench, the half-assembled prosthetic laying before him in two main pieces.

The addition to the stump of his left arm was still a jarring sight. A port, Varian called it, for the prosthetic to attach to. Metal circled the length of the limb, the skin above it red and irritated. Quirin could see the ends of the wires dangling out, ready to be connected to the prosthetic. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be used to it.

“What is it, son?” Quirin stopped himself from automatically going to Varian’s side, instead coming to an awkward halt several feet away.

Varian’s eyes darted up to meet him. “I… I need to attach the forearm to the elbow joint and I can’t do it by myself,” he admitted, looking away. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and Quirin recognized the tight lines of frustration around Varian’s mouth and eyes.

“… what do you need me to do?” Quirin asked gently.

“Just- just hold it.” Varian fidgeted with the hem of his apron. “This part is- this part is, uh, delicate. So. I just need the prosthetic to stay still so I can get inside to the- to the finer mechanics.”

“Alright.” Quirin approached the workbench. “So I just…?” His hands hovered uncertainly over the fragile piece of machinery, wary of accidentally breaking it.

“Yeah, there’s fine.” Varian nodded at Quirin’s grip on the prosthetic before grabbing a small wrench off the table and getting to work.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Quirin could tell Varian didn’t like having to rely on him, would rather that he wasn’t there. Quirin had done his best to be sensitive to Varian’s needs, following that awful first time he’d come down to the lab (though the crystal was covered now, it still loomed over them in every sense of the word).

But the quiet was stifling, filled only by the soft tinkering of metal and the faint breathing of Varian’s pet raccoon, sleeping under the table. Normally, Varian would be talking Quirin’s ear off, as he’d done plenty of times before. But things weren’t normal, hadn’t been since the accident.

Eventually, Quirin couldn’t stand it anymore. He cleared his throat. “You’ve… gotten a lot done.” He tried not to sound surprised, but he was curious as to how Varian had gotten this far without needing help.

Varian answered the unspoken question without looking up. “I have a clamp, to- to hold things in place. But this- the pieces were too large. And the, uh, the angle isn’t right. For what I’m trying to do.”

“Ah.” Quirin let his gaze sweep over the crowded workbench, all the bits and pieces of machinery he didn’t understand. “And what is it you’re trying to do?”

Varian tensed slightly, as if the question made him wary. Nonetheless, he answered. “The joint is very complex. It’s got two motors in it; one controls rotation, the other controls the angle of back and forward motion. It won’t be as fluid as a norm- organic arm would be, but pretty close. Close enough. Most of the operating power’s gonna go to the hand, anyways- it’s important for me to be able to use my fingers with precision and accuracy.” He paused in his movement, staring at the back of his hand before curling his fingers into a fist. “Obviously.”

Quirin felt a pang in his chest. Losing an arm would be hard for _anyone,_ but for Varian’s specific area of work… “You think it’ll do it?” he asked. “This… prosthetic, it’ll help you get by like before?”

Varian nodded slightly. “Yeah. I’ve designed the fingers to be especially complex. So, each of the three individual joints will have their own propulsion, and- and I’ll actually get more defined movement than in organic fingers. You- you know how your middle two fingers have a harder time moving independently?” He jerked his shoulders in a shrug. “Well, that won’t be a problem here.”

Varian resumed his work, leaving Quirin to absorb the information. His hand moved deftly among the parts of the prosthetic, fingers nimble and precise even within his bulky glove. Connecting wires, tightening bolts, installing gears… all at a rapid, confident pace. Like it was second nature to him.

Quirin realized he’d never really seen his son at work. Mostly he dealt with what came after, the fallout from whatever mechanical mishap or experimental disaster Varian had gotten himself into. Quirin had spent a lot of time in Varian’s youth trying to dissuade him from alchemy and engineering, to no avail. He wanted Varian to be happy, yes, but he also needed Varian to be _safe,_ and a lot of the time, those two concepts seemed to be at odds.

He’d eased up on it, in more recent years. It’d reached a point where he realized the only way to stop Varian from wanting to be an alchemist would be to outright forbid it, and even _that_ wasn’t a given. But even though he’d stopped opposing it, he’d be hard pressed to say he saw Varian’s interest in alchemy as a good thing. It came from a good place, he knew- Varian was just trying to help, every single time something went wrong. And things did indeed go wrong.

But seeing Varian now… facing such a devastating problem with ingenuity and determination, using his skills and innovation to find a way to get by. His understanding of mechanics and engineering, the ability to look at a heap of metal scrap and see potential, to see something that’d never been done before- it was amazing.

His son was amazing.

“There.” Varian stepped back, scanning the prosthetic with a critical eye.

The machine finally resembled an arm in shape, composed of mismatched metal and gears and wires. Even to Quirin’s untrained eye, it clearly wasn’t finished, but what was done was immensely impressive. Only five day’s work, from a one-armed fourteen-year-old recovering from surgery. It left Quirin stunned.

“That’s all I needed, I- I should be able to finish it on my own,” Varian said, glancing away. “Th- thanks.”

Quirin swallowed. He’d never been the best at these things, but he owed it to Varian to try, to tell him how he felt.

“Varian…" he started quietly. "There is so much more to you than I’d realized. I’m sorry it took _this_ happening for me to finally see it.” He finally looked up, hoping to convey how much he meant the words. “I’m proud of you, son. I… always have been.”

Varian had gone very still, his expression startlingly blank. In his eyes, Quirin could see a sort of battle going on, like he was torn between two very different reactions. Finally, he let out a slow breath.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone what happened?” Varian asked carefully.

The abrupt change in subject left Quirin thrown. It took him a moment to respond. “I wanted it to be your choice, Varian,” he said, neglecting to mention that he’d already told Varian this before.

Varian raised his eyebrows. “So it- it has nothing to do with what people might think if they knew _I’d_ caused it in the first place?” he asked, meeting Quirin’s gaze with a challenge in his eyes.

Quirin faltered, Varian’s words ringing true.

Part of his decision to keep the matter private had indeed been due to the people of Old Corona, how they’d react. To them, Varian was a nuisance at best, and a menace at worst. Quirin had done his best to protect his son from the worst of it- he strongly suspected that he was the only reason they tolerated Varian’s presence and hadn’t run him out by now.

People around here were less… accepting, of anyone or anything that was different. They were happy with simple lives, and Varian was anything but simple. Even so, his interest in alchemy _might_ have been endured if it didn’t so frequently end in disaster.

So if word got around that Varian had not only been experimenting on the rocks, but had triggered an unforeseen reaction that had cost him his arm… the whispers of _‘mad scientist’_ and _‘public threat’_ might have grown into a roar big enough to swallow Varian whole.

But Quirin didn’t know how to explain all that to Varian without sounding accusatory. “Everyone was already on edge from the black rocks, Varian,” he said. “I didn’t want to start a panic-”

“And it’s not just that, is it?” Varian pressed, eyes alight with intensity. “No, you don’t want them to see what a mess I’ve made of myself, for them to see that they were right about me, that I’m a- a sorry excuse for a son-”

“Varian, I am _not_ ashamed of you,” Quirin said, his heart twisting.

Varian huffed a laugh, disbelieving. “Sure, ‘cause it’s- it’s not like I’ve been _hiding_ since it happened, right?” he asked bitterly. “No, you don’t- you don’t want them to see how _badly_ I screwed up this time, do you?”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Quirin forced as much meaning into his words as he could; it hurt, knowing that Varian thought of himself that way. “There’s no way you could have foreseen what would happen, it was an accident. I would _never_ blame you for that.”

Instead of reassuring him, the words seemed to make Varian even more upset. He struggled for something to say, his jaw working angrily, before his eyes narrowed. “So maybe you’re just worried about what they’ll say about _you,”_ he spat. “After all, what kind of father does something like this to his own _child?”_

Quirin stopped breathing.

The words cut him to his core, the pain so acute it was almost a physical ache in his chest. As he stood frozen, his mind split into two equally loud parts; half of him wanted to break down, to hide from the sting of the words and the striking similarity they bore to the exact questions he’d been asking himself since that hellish day. The other half of him was screaming in indignation, desperately trying to hold up something, _anything,_ in his own defense- _that’s not fair, I had no choice, you were the reason I had to do it in the first place_ \- if only to shield him from the agony.

Quirin had only just opened his mouth to say something- what, he didn’t know- when he paused, looking at Varian carefully.

Because beneath the venom in his voice and the heat in his cheeks, Quirin saw that Varian was trembling. And not with anger- he was desperately hiding something behind the wall of his eyes, fear leaking through the cracks, and that’s what made Quirin pause.

It all clicked together. Varian was punishing himself, deliberately pushing Quirin away in the hope of distracting from the root of the problem. Maybe it was his way of coping; blaming himself or Quirin might be easier than accepting that it was, truly, no one’s sole fault. He was searching for a reason, no matter how painful it might be. It was his only way to make sense of what’d happened.

That was why he was refusing Quirin’s comfort and reassurance. That, and the undeniable fact that there was a part of him that was scared of Quirin. Varian was trying to justify it, to give himself an excuse to pull away from Quirin even more. Because they both knew it’d been the only way, and the conflicting feelings must’ve been tearing Varian apart- he felt he needed a _reason_ to feel the way he did about Quirin.

Varian’s words had been meant to hurt, to enrage. To make Quirin go on the defensive, and fire back an accusation of his own- _he was trying to make Quirin place the blame on him,_ Quirin realized. A carefully designed and brutally effective catalyst that would rend their relationship far beyond repair. Then, Varian would not only be validated in feeling like the accident was his fault, but he’d also feel like he was allowed to distance himself from Quirin, to continue to push him away instead of confronting the trauma he now associated with him.

_You were the reason I had to do it in the first place._

If those words left Quirin’s mouth, he knew it’d be the end of them. There’d be no taking it back, no fixing the chasm it would tear between them, filled with blame and resentment and fear.

Quirin took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

Varian’s intricate mask of hatred and condemnation shattered into pieces, leaving something wide-eyed and vulnerable beneath.

_“… what?”_

“I’m sorry,” Quirin said again. “I’m sorry I put you through that. No one should have to go through that.”

Varian’s face paled. “No, no, you- it was the only way to- did you even hear what I said?” he demanded, desperation leaking into his voice. “You should be _furious_ right now-”

“No.” Quirin shook his head. “You’re right, I never should’ve let the situation with the rocks get this bad. And I’m sorry for not talking to you about what happened.” Ignoring the way things changed between them had only let it fester- he’d left Varian to try and work everything out by himself. “It was my responsibility and I failed you. I won’t fail you now.”

“S- stop,” Varian gasped, staggering back. “You don’t- you don’t have to...”

The words almost seemed to burn him. But Quirin pressed on; he knew Varian needed to hear this. It was like cauterizing a wound- the only way he could stop the bleeding.

“I didn’t want to do it. It broke my heart, son. I would’ve given anything in that moment to save you from this fate, taken your place in an instant. I still would.” Quirin’s voice cracked, his eyes stinging. He’d hardly acknowledged his own feelings in all this, much less spoken about them, and it _hurt._ “All I wanted to do was keep you safe. I should have listened to you about the rocks, paid more attention, and because I didn’t, I ended up hurting you more than anything else ever could-”

 _“No!”_ Varian’s voice was a hoarse shout. “I was the one who should have listened! None of this would’ve _happened_ if I’d just listened! I- I disobeyed you and went behind your back and ruined everything and- _I’m sorry.”_

And with that, the last of the wall crumbled. Varian dropped to his knees, his arm wrapping around his middle as he doubled over, sobs wracking his body.

Quirin fought the immediate instinct to rush over, forcing himself to approach slowly instead. He knelt down beside Varian, careful not to crowd him, and hesitantly put his arms out.

This time, Varian didn’t shy away. He threw his arm around Quirin’s neck, burying his face in his shirt. “I’m s- sorry, Dad,” he cried. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too, son,” Quirin said softly. “We both made mistakes. But listen to me; it was an accident, alright? It wasn’t your fault.”

Varian sobbed harder, a trembling, hysterical mess. He held Quirin tight, like the thought of letting go terrified him. Quirin returned the embrace as much as he dared, rubbing gentle circles on Varian’s back.

“Shh, it’s alright, Varian. It wasn’t your fault.” Quirin blinked away tears of his own. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He’d seen his son in a lot of pain recently. More pain than most people experienced in their entire lives, the kind of physical agony that would push anyone to their limit as well as psychological trauma that could unravel even the soundest mind. But this kind was different; devastating as anything, but infinitely more necessary.

Varian’s tears wet Quirin’s shirt, and it was healing.

~*~

Varian stared at his house, taking it in one last time.

A faint wind kicked up dead leaves down the road, whistling as it blew through the deserted village. Ruddiger pressed against Varian’s legs, chirruping up at him lowly as if consoling him. The building before them was held together only by the countless rocks speared through it. Splintered wood and crumbling stone contrasted with the sleek, deadly glint of black, erupting from the walls and roof like a colossal thorn bush.

A quick look up showed that Dad was experiencing a similar moment, saying his goodbyes. Varian knew they’d both lived their entire lives here, the house having been in the family for generations, now. Varian was also aware that they were leaving behind the last place that held their memories of Mom.

The thought made Varian’s throat tighten, and Dad put a hand on his shoulder.

They’d had to leave a lot behind, bringing only a small handcart packed with essentials- and an odd chest Varian had never seen, with some kind of crest stamped into the wood. Dad had yet to open it, or tell Varian what was inside, but he’d promised to explain everything very soon. That was good enough for Varian to slate away his curiosity for the time being.

The only thing Varian carried was his satchel, filled with various tools and materials he’d need for maintenance. The prosthetic functioned quite well, all things considering. The false limb was made of countless intricate working parts, the bronze metal cogs and gears glinting in the sunlight, and the range of motion was nearly identical to his organic arm. There was a slight delay in all its movements, which he’d expected. He looked forward to having time to cut that down until it was almost unnoticeable, but for now, it would do just fine.

It had taken another full week of hard work, much of it slow and tedious in nature. A lot of trial and error. The final product was rougher than he would have liked, but it was functional, and it was all he could manage under their time constraint.

The prosthetic was an odd presence at his side. Familiar, in that he wasn’t lacking the weight of a limb anymore. But it was unusual because it wasn’t a _part_ of him, and it was actually heavier than his real arm had been, a consequence of the metal it was made of. He’d had to fashion an elaborate system of harnesses to keep it strapped in place, and tied a small sandbag to his right hip to even out the balance of weight distribution so he wouldn’t just tip over. Those were unfamiliar as well, the leather wrapped around his chest and shoulders and waist constricting in a way, but steadying, too.

It seemed he was made of contradictions, lately. Flesh and metal. Successes and failures. Progress and drawbacks- like his relationship with Dad.

There were still things they had to work on. If Dad’s voice caught Varian off guard, like when approaching him from behind, it was enough to make his muscles freeze in panic, phantom pains seizing his arm as he drowned in the memory. Sometimes, he’d get set off for seemingly no reason. Whenever it happened, Dad would sit beside him and gently talk to him until he came out of it- no matter how long it took- providing reassurances and helping him breathe. Dad was also careful not to touch Varian when he wasn’t expecting it, and especially when he was in a bad state.

But right now, it was okay. Dad’s hand on his shoulder was a reassuring presence. The deep breath Varian took was not out of panic or fear, but… anticipation? Contentment? Maybe even relief?

Because as scary as it was, he was ready to move on. It hurt, to leave the only home he’d ever known for a future of uncertainty. After everything the black rocks had taken from him, this was like adding insult to injury. Though it’d been a long time coming, with the entire village overrun, he knew he’d still miss his home.

(He also knew there was one thing he’d be grateful to leave behind, hidden beneath a tarp down in his lab.)

But it was time to move forward. And this wasn’t the end, or an admission of defeat; they were headed not to join the rest of Old Corona at the new settlement, but to the castle. To finally face the problem head on and speak to the king about the black rocks. To _really_ speak to him, this time, and find a solution as father and son.

Dad gave Varian’s shoulder a comforting squeeze, smiling down at him. His expression shone with pride.

“Ready to go, son?”

Varian reached his prosthetic up to grip Dad’s hand, metal fingers curling slowly and methodically. He let out a heavy breath and gave his own smile in return; slightly less certain, but full of hope.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Cleave is a funny word that has a lot of meanings. And I swear, I was already working that concept before I remembered SVTFOE did it.
> 
> I hope you’ve enjoyed! As of right now, I don’t have any solid plans to continue, but if there’s enough interest I might revisit this ‘verse… there’s a ton of possibility with an au like this, it’d be pretty fun to explore! So please, **don’t be shy to tell me what you think!**
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting, and I'll see you around! - Aqua


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